


there's a story at the bottom of this bottle (and i'm the pen)

by kitsunerei88



Series: Revolutionary Arc Plus Extras [17]
Category: Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88
Genre: Character Death, Character Development, Character Study, Child Death, Custody Arrangements, Developing Relationship, F/M, Major Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, Romance, War, i cried and so should you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29727216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/pseuds/kitsunerei88
Summary: Alex took another swig from the brandy bottle before letting out a rough laugh that held no humour at all. "What happened? My life is a crock of shit, Aldon. I can dress it up in as many words for honour and duty and noble ideals as I want, but that doesn't make it not a crock of shit."
Relationships: Aldon Rosier/Francesca Lam, Alexander Willoughby/Fei Long Lin
Series: Revolutionary Arc Plus Extras [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722145
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	there's a story at the bottom of this bottle (and i'm the pen)

Aldon stared at the spreadsheet on his laptop, scrutinizing the array of numbers. Each line represented one of the Rosier Investment Trust's investments, with two tabs listing wizarding and Muggle investments separately. To no one's surprise, Blake Rosier Lam Industries was the strongest investment on the wizarding tab; on the Muggle, Aldon was satisfied to see that Francesca's suggestion to buy stock in an array of Muggle technology companies, from Windows to Intel to Apple, had largely paid off. Their investments were healthy, their investors were happy, and life was good.

"I put the children to bed," a soft voice said, and Aldon looked up see his wife of some eight years standing in the doorway. The years and three children had changed her—she had curves that she didn't have before, and Aldon loved every single one of them. He didn't love the expression of mild reproach on her face. "It's nearly nine—is there any need to work at this hour? The markets are closed, there'll be no change before tomorrow morning. Alice wants a bedtime story, and she'll throw a tantrum if you don't go."

"I'll go now." Aldon shut his laptop, standing up with a stretch. He crossed the room, planting a kiss on Francesca's cheek. "Besides, you know that both Edmund and Cedric will be reading under their covers until at least eleven. Cedric has that new picture book on spaceships, remember."

Francesca sighed, looking mollified. "How could I forget? He's going to ruin it, dragging it everywhere as he does."

"I put a spell against wear and tear on it already." Aldon smiled, then he cocked his head.

It was a feeling he hadn't had in many years—the sense of someone approaching his outer wards. It was far too late for any social calls, and he had, as a matter of routine, secured all their entrances already. Old habits died hard. The war was more than fifteen years in the past, but Aldon always secured and triple-checked his wards. With a sharp mental command, he ordered Rosier Place to show him the outer wards.

It took him a few minutes to recognize the man standing in the dark. First, he had not seen Alex in many years—his old friend lived in Serbia, and from what he understood, he spent near six months per year deployed by the Order. They spoke from time to time, but Alex could be hard to contact even with their comm orb.

Second, Alex was older. They all were—at thirty-seven, Aldon was not the just-past-teenager who had fought a war. He wore more strands of grey in his hair than he'd like, and he had lines on his face that hadn't been there before. But somehow, the same indicators of age on Alex were shocking, as if he had somehow always expected his old friend to remain the mildly sardonic and protective friend of his past, flashing sharp fangs in threat.

The third reason that he didn't immediately recognize him was that Alex was carrying another shape in his arms. A small child, one that Aldon could see in the dim light shared a tint of his chestnut brown hair and his cheekbones. A daughter, unless Aldon missed his guess.

He frowned. "We have a guest," he murmured needlessly to Francesca, whose expression had gone rigid as she, too, looked towards their outer wards.

"Family quarters," she replied just as softly. "He looks upset. I'll tell Alice that you can't read her her bedtime story tonight, and you'll read her two tomorrow."

"If she starts crying, ask Edmund to look in on her." Aldon shook his head. He didn't like dropping things on his eldest, but Edmund was as much like his namesake as Alice was nothing like hers. Edmund had been helping with his younger siblings almost since he could read. "And yes, I think the family dining room would be best."

"I'll call for a tray of tea." Francesca nodded, sweeping upstairs. "And arrange for a room for the child."

"Some brandy might be good as well," Aldon called after her. While there was no sign that she had heard, he had no doubt that shortly after he met his friend, there would be both a steaming tray of tea and a bottle of brandy on the dining room table for them.

A quick mental order allowed Alex onto the Rosier Place grounds, and a second mental shift altered the distance so that Alex wouldn't have so far to walk to the front doors.

On the front step, under the glowing evening light-spell that Aldon had triggered, his old friend looked even worse than Aldon had been able to see earlier. His pallor was off—Alex was lightly tanned, but rather than looking healthy on him, it looked only strange. His blue eyes were rimmed in red, the skin underneath rubbed and raw. Aldon didn't react, turning his attention to the sleeping child in Alex's arms.

She couldn't have been more than five or six—she was bigger than his own Alice and Cedric were, but then Aldon knew that his children tended smaller. Under the light, he could see that the girl's hair was a shade darker than Alex's, and her nose was broad rather than pointed. An inheritance of her mother's, Aldon could only assume, because if the child opened her eyes, Aldon would have bet that they were blue like her father's.

"Come in," he said, keeping his voice quiet. "It's late, and I can see that you've travelled far. Francesca is preparing a bedroom."

"No." Alex's voice rasped slightly. "Or—not now. If—if we could talk?"

"I assumed we would anyway," Aldon replied, not arguing. It was clear enough without his gift that Alex had recently gone through something difficult, and that he had much to tell him. "I only thought it might be more comfortable for your daughter to sleep in a bed while we spoke."

"I'll keep Marija with me as long as I can, thank you," Alex said, his tone grim and resigned. "She won't wake, I promise. I gave her a bit of Dreamless Sleep earlier while we were travelling."

"Very well." Aldon nodded, leading Alex through familiar passageways into the family quarters. He had never changed much of the décor of most of Rosier Place, finding that the bland, impersonal elegance of most of the common areas suited him fine considering he didn't actually live in them. He and Francesca had made the family quarters their home, the remainder of the manor left empty but for special occasions.

The family dining room was a small, cozy space, a far cry from the formal dining room. There were no chandeliers here, but rather the newest in light-spell technology and plain, Scandinavian-style minimalism. Francesca was already there, pouring mugs of tea for them all, and a bottle of brandy sat on the table beside the teapot. She glanced at the child, but Aldon shook his head slightly and gestured Alex to a seat across the table, closest to the brandy.

"You'll have to excuse us if we don't drink with you," Aldon said, with a wave towards the brandy. "We always keep some on hand for guests, but we drink very little ourselves. Bad habits, and bad memories."

Alex nodded, not answering as he shifted his daughter's weight into his lap to reach for the brandy. He didn't bother pouring it into the offered glass, instead taking a harsh swallow directly from the bottle.

Aldon didn't comment. "So," he prompted. In most circumstances, the rules of etiquette mandated light conversation before anything serious, but considering how Alex looked, Aldon thought this had to be an exception that allowed for directness. "What happened, Alex?"

Alex took another swig from the brandy bottle before letting out a rough laugh that held no humour at all. "What happened? My life is a crock of shit, Aldon. I can dress it up in as many words for honour and duty and noble ideals as I want, but that doesn't make it not a crock of shit."

"All right," Aldon replied slowly, glancing at the child in Alex's arms, but she didn't stir. "Why don't you… elaborate?"

Alex sighed deeply, shutting his eyes. Another moment, and another swallow, before he spoke again. This time, his words were slow and almost meditative. "I suppose—the easiest place is to start is the war. For you, there was one war, and it ended. For the dhampir, war is never-ending. We are born, and from the day we are born until the day we die, we are hunted. There are few vampires in Britain, so there is a mythos about them, but Romania, in the Balkans, in the Caucasus, we know better. They live to kill, Aldon, and we, as their part-blooded children, have the unique skills to keep the threat away from our Muggle and wizarding neighbours. But they know this, and for every one of us that exists, they have killed more.

"Anyone we are close to may become a liability—more so if they are not dhampir themselves. My father—he thought, in the heart of Belgrade, that he and my mother and I would be safe. We weren't, and while my mother and I survived, he didn't." Alex's lips twisted bitterly, and he reached for the brandy again. "Fool that I am, I made the same mistake."

Aldon nodded, though he didn't understand fully. "Go on."

Alex shook his head, not agreement or disagreement, and when he continued, his voice was lower. "Because of the risks, there are strict rules on dhampir conduct in relationships. I'm a bastard—and not just in the literal sense. We don't get into relationships, Aldon, not purposefully. We don't marry. We are promiscuous. We make no promises to anyone, and for those women who have our children…"

Alex fell silent, and when he had been silent for a moment too long, Aldon prompted him. "For those women who have your children?"

"If the children are dhampir, we take them into our custody for their safety," Alex said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wallet. "If they aren't, well, there's a fund for their support, but we—ideally, we disappear."

"Ideally," Aldon repeated dryly. He couldn't say he approved—he was far too much of a conservative around family values to approve, though he could appreciate that things were likely different in Alex's world. He knew too well how much danger Francesca had been in the war, when the thought that she could have been captured and held to ensure his good behaviour had made him exceptionally paranoid about her safety.

"Ideally," Alex said, a wry smile crossing his face. "We are not all ideal. I am not ideal."

He reached into a hidden fold of his wallet and pulled out a series of pictures, sliding the first across the small dining room table. "My eldest, of a sort."

Aldon looked down at the picture, which was old and somewhat tatty around the corners. Francesca peered over his shoulder, and her slightly sucked in breath echoed the punch that Aldon felt in his gut.

He should have known. Cho might have been his assistant for only a few months towards the end of the war, and she had never been a close friend, but she had still been under the protection of Rosier Place and, more importantly, under Aldon's command. He had been incensed to learn that she had fallen pregnant under his roof, and even more incensed when she had steadfastly refused to give him the name of the father. Instead, she had stormed out of Rosier Place, some six months pregnant when he pulled her in for questioning one too many times in an aim to help her and had refused to answer his missives thereafter.

He had heard that she had moved to Manchester, finding work as a court clerk with the Department of Justice at the Ministry of Magic. He learned from Neal that she had her child, near exactly nine months after the end of the war, at Queenscove and that he was a healthy boy, promptly named Alexander Chang. A few years later, she had married Percy Weasley—Aldon had received an invitation, but both he and Francesca had been away in North America for college and were unable to attend.

Neal had sent a few photos, and they all included Cho's son. The boy had been part of the wedding party, the ringbearer, and Francesca had squealed over how cute the boy was in his tiny suit, but Aldon had never noticed the resemblance until Alex stood in front of him. The photo that Alex held out to them was a later one—a traditional portrait taken shortly after the young Alexander Chang Weasley's entrance into Hogwarts, it seemed. The boy even wore the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw House, a thick scarf wound around his neck.

"You're the father of Alexander Chang Weasley," Aldon said, reigning in with difficulty his disapproval. He remembered well his anger shortly after the war, and he could not banish those feelings on a whim. Not even for Alex, one of his oldest surviving friends.

"Biologically, yes." Alex looked away. "But not—not in any other way."

* * *

He wasn't supposed to be in England. His leave had been taken hastily, too hastily, and technically he had no command approval, but after receiving the court papers, he hadn't had a choice. Élodie would cover for him for a few days, and it could not take longer than a few days to sort this out. He was only glad that his unit had been stationed at headquarters when the documents had arrived by express owl, because had he been deployed, he would have had no choice but to let it go.

A part of him was surprised that Cho hadn't simply waited until he had been deployed, but he knew that no matter how angry Cho might be at him, she had always had a sense of fairness. They knew each other too deeply for that, between the 1995 Triwizard Tournament and the war, and she had to know that he wouldn't let this go without a fight.

That wasn't right, he corrected himself sharply. Cho was fair-minded enough to let him have his fight, and by the gods he would give it to her.

His son was _his_ son. Alexander Chang might not be dhampir, but he was Alex's son, and even if Alex couldn't be there anywhere near as much as he wanted, that was a bond that couldn't be changed. He paid support—enough that if Cho budgeted, she didn't need to work, and he knew well that those payments had set her up in her flat in Manchester years ago. That had to mean something.

A few letters, by express owl, had a meeting set up at her lawyer's office. Alex went alone—he hadn't had time to retain a lawyer, nor was he sure that one was necessary, while Susan Bones represented both Cho and her fiancé, Percy Weasley.

Alex did not care that Cho had moved on from him—it was better for her that she do so, and he had to say that, of the possible choices, Percy Weasley was a good one. Percy was brave, and he could and did hold his own in a fight. Where they had their dispute was that Cho wanted Alex to sign off on his parental rights so that Percy could adopt their son.

 _Their_ son. Alexander Chang was _his_ son, not Percy's.

The boardroom was plain, the table made of an ugly grey particle board that Alex could smash with little effort. There was a pitcher of water in the centre of the table, alongside six empty glasses. There was a stack of paperwork sitting on his side of the table, which Alex promptly ignored as he took as seat across from his old war allies.

"Alex," Susan said warmly, rising to hold a hand out to him. A very Muggle gesture, Alex noted, though Susan was a pureblood. He ignored it, and she dropped it. "I'm glad you could come. Are you sure you don't want your own lawyer?"

"I'm away without leave," Alex snapped, flashing sharp teeth at the lawyer's direction, but Susan didn't blink. Everyone in Britain was too hardy after the war—his teeth made no impact here at all anymore. "I haven't had time to seek a lawyer. The answer is no, Cho. I am not signing off on these papers."

"Alex…" Cho let out a long-suffering sigh, putting her head in her hands. "We've talked about this. Our son needs a father—one that can be here for him while he grows up. I—I'm grateful for all your financial support, but that's not enough."

"You won't need to pay any support further, if you sign off," Percy interjected, his voice cool where Cho's was warm. "I've also tabulated the amounts you paid to Cho over the past three and a half years—we'll reimburse it, so long as this doesn't need to go to court. That's not a small sum, as you know."

"It's not about the money," Alex growled, offended that they'd even suggested it. "This is about my son. _My_ son, Percy."

"Your son that you never see," Percy replied, deadly quiet. "What is it—a weekend every year? Maybe two weekends, or a long weekend? Do you even know what he likes, or how he spends his days? What about when he first walked, or his first word? His favourite book, his favourite toy?"

"I cannot help what I am." Alex scowled. "I am dhampir—I have duties in Belgrade that cannot be ignored."

"It's odd for you to even be involved with your son anymore, isn't it?" Susan cut in, her smile sharp. "I've made inquiries—Stormwing Avery was surprised that you kept in contact, other than the support. Alexander Chang isn't a dhampir—he's solely magical. From my understanding, your own Order policies state that for the safety of the child, it is best for the dhampir parent to cease contact, lest vampire trackers discover the target. That's also why the support payments are made from an unmarked account, is that not right?"

"I—" Alex cut himself off because Susan was entirely right. He shouldn't have kept in contact at all, and had Cho been in France or Italy, he probably would have done the right thing and cut off contact. But across the Channel, in his home England where he had grown up, it was far enough away that he could tell himself that it was safe. He still kept his contact minimal—a weekend here, a weekend there, and not enough of them, but he was there.

He was there, damn it all. He did his best to be there.

"This would be a solid break for you, in accordance with your own dhampir policies and in the best interests of the child," Susan said, twisting the blade in his chest. "You sign these papers, you walk away. Alexander Chang isn't your child, and there's no reason for anyone to think that he can be a valid target to hurt you. Percy and Cho are also willing to entertain visits—this is not a closed adoption, but an open one."

"He's going to need more as he grows older," Cho said, her voice soft as she leaned across the table to touch his hand. "Alex is young now, but he already needs more than you can give. I'm not—this isn't supposed to be a complete break, Alex. He's four in only five months, and you've spent less than a week with him. We can be friends—we are friends, aren't we?"

"Let me see him." Alex threw her hand off rudely. "I want to see my son. What does he think about this?"

"He's three and a half," Percy snapped, blue eyes flashing. "I assure you; he mostly thinks about his toy dinosaurs and his _Land Before Time_ movies. There's no need for you to upset him."

"He's _my son_ ," Alex snarled back. They would have a connection, wouldn't they? A connection in blood, if nothing else, and that had to mean something. His son would know him to see him. "And I want to see him. Now."

"I'm not sure that's a good—" Susan tried to cut in, but Cho shook her head.

"Are you sure about this, Alex?" she asked, her voice serious. "I don't think you're going to get the answer you want."

"I want to see him," Alex repeated, his eyes glancing off to Percy and Susan. "Without your fiancé and lawyer present, if you would."

Cho's stare was long and intent, but she nodded. "All right. Percy, Susan, would you mind?"

"Are you sure about this, Cho?" Percy's frown was immediate. "I'm not sure this is a good—"

"Alex would never hurt our child." Cho's word was final. "Nor would he ever hurt me, and I'll stay right here with him. Go get him."

"All right," Percy replied reluctantly. "If you're sure."

"We'll stay right outside." Susan smiled, and as friendly as it was, Alex had a sense that she and Percy would both be waiting with wands at the ready. As if Alex hadn't noticed the strict binding and ward-spells all over the boardroom already. "Holler if you need us, Cho."

"No need to worry." Cho smiled back, encouraging, and both Percy and Susan disappeared.

While they were away, Alex looked his old friend over. She was very different now than when they had first slept together, in his seventh year, and again from their brief and intense wartime fling—her face and frame had filled out, and instead of leaving her hair long and messy, she had it cut in a short, stylish bob that kept it out of her face. Her makeup was light, as it had always been, and while she looked worried, this was nothing like the long, drawn-out worry of the war. She looked healthy, and happy.

"You look well, Cho," he said reluctantly, and it was the kindest thing he could have said that day. "The years have treated you well."

"And you look the same as ever." Cho smiled wistfully. "You don't age much, do you?"

"Not as quickly, no." Alex looked away. "It's suspected that we would live long lives, or that we would be immortal, if we weren't killed as often as we are."

"God, that's a morbid thought." Cho shook her head, looking away. "True as it might be."

There was a sound from the doorway, and Alex looked up to see a small child coming into the room, clutching a stuffed dinosaur. Alexander Chang looked much like his mother, with dark, carefully cut hair and a round face, but his eyes were bright blue, entirely Alex's. He stumbled a bit, toddling into the room. "Mama?"

"Alex, baby." Cho immediately went to him, crouching down to speak to him. "Mama wants you to say hello to someone. This is Alex, your namesake—you met him before, a few times. I named you for him. Do you remember him?"

The child bit his lower lip, looking uncertainly up at Alex. Alex didn't need Cho to tell him that his son had no recollection of him at all. Still, he went to him, and knelt down before him. "Hello, Alex. I'm your father."

Alexander Chang's face creased in confusion as he reached for his mother. "No," he said, and the word was firm and clearly enunciated. "I don't—I'm Alex, and I don't—I don't—I want Percy."

"I don't let him call Percy his father," Cho added in an undertone. "But I've had to stop him a lot. He wants to—the other children at daycare mostly have fathers, and Percy or one of his brothers picks him up there sometimes and it's—it's been difficult for him."

"I—" Alex replied, his heart sinking. He tried to reach out to his son again, but the boy clung tightly to Cho. "Alex…"

"I want Percy," the child said again, his face quickly passing from confusion into upset. "Mama, I want—I want Percy!"

Alex had no idea what to say to his son, who clearly had no recollection of him and apparently desperately wanted Percy Weasley right now. He had no familiarity with children—there were children at headquarters, but it was their dhampir mothers who looked after them, along with Muggles in the know who had been hired for the task. Alex personally had nothing to do with the children, and he didn't know what to do with his son now, who looked to be setting up for tears.

The last time he had seen Alexander Chang, the boy had just started talking and hadn't known many words yet. Time passed quickly.

Cho sighed, hugging the child, and shushed him. "Is that enough?" she asked in a low voice. "I don't think there's much more to be gained from this, and Alex really will set up a wail soon."

"That's enough," Alex replied, and his words were heavy. "I—Cho. I understand."

"You can still visit, when you can." To her credit, Cho did sound apologetic. "But it's just—you're never there, and legally speaking it's better if I can put Percy on as the father for the daycare and for schooling and junior Quidditch and things, and since we're getting married anyway Alex will be so confused if he can't call Percy his father—"

"That's enough," Alex repeated woodenly. "I do understand. Hand him off to—to his father, and I'll sign the papers. Don't invite them back in. I don't want them to see this."

Cho's nodded, walking their son back to the door to pass him off to the man that would be his father, while Alex reached for the papers. He barely skimmed them—in his frame of mind, he only knew enough to know that the papers were exactly as Cho said they were, signing off his parental rights and a consent for one Percival Ignatius Weasley to adopt his son, Alexander Chang. He felt Cho sit down beside him as he scrawled his name, _Aleksandr Dragi_ _ć_ _Willoughby_ , in black ink over what seemed like a dozen pages—and he felt her put her arm around his waist while he did it.

They hadn't ended badly. It had been what it had been—an intense wartime fling. Alex had never made her any promises, and Cho was sensible enough to know that no amount of love could change his circumstances. When she had gotten pregnant, he'd made the usual arrangements for her support, then had taken it a step farther and taken a few weeks of leave to come to England and help set her up in her new apartment. A tug at a connection through Stormwing Avery had gotten Cho an internship with the Ministry, since she wanted to work, and he'd done what very little he could.

In return, Cho had taken his instructions and never revealed his name to anyone. No matter how hard it had been for her, no matter if her parents had thrown her out for it, no matter how often Aldon had pulled her into his office and questioned her with the full extent of his abilities. Until now, until she needed him to sign these papers, she had told no one.

"Thank you," she whispered, and Alex nodded mutely as he turned into her wrapped her in a hug for the last time. If she felt the dampness of the few tears that he shed, she didn't comment on them.

* * *

"I don't see him often," Alex confessed. "Not—not because I can't, but because it's too hard. To him, Percy is his father—Percy is the one who took him to and picked him up from his Muggle school, who watched his junior Quidditch Games, who patched him up when he fell. Percy taught him to read, and his first spells. He knows, of course, that I'm his biological father, but he doesn't have much to say to me. Cho sends me updates and pictures from time to time, and Ron—Stormwing Weasley, I mean—always carries an update to me when he returns to Belgrade from his annual leave, but otherwise—"

"Otherwise, you have no relationship with him," Francesca finished for him, pouring another cup of tea and pushing it across the table for him. She had taken over because, unlike Aldon, she was better able to keep her own thoughts to herself on these matters. "But it sounds like you made the right decision for both your son and yourself—no matter what it might have cost you. I find that admirable."

Aldon was not sure admirable was the word he would have used—especially for Alex's actions afterwards, which he'd have likely put into terms more like cowardice. As if his thoughts were written on his face, Alex turned to him with a small, self-loathing sort of smile.

"There _is_ a reason I never said anything to you about it," he said, reaching for the brandy again. "My later actions don't show me in much of a better light, I'm afraid."

"I can hardly imagine they would be worse," Aldon replied dryly. "Why don't you go on, and we'll see how low my opinion of you will drop?"

Alex sighed, looking down and pulling out the next two pictures from his wallet. He looked at them, his expression remote, before sliding them across the table.

"After Cho—after that, whether it was because I learned my lesson or because I simply don't meet a lot of people, I kept my relationships, for lack of a better word, to people in my world." He pointed at the picture to the left, which showed a tow-headed toddler who couldn't have been more than two. The photo was even more battered. "Istvan Aleksandrovich Szabo, born April 22, 2003. Died November 5, 2004."

"Died," Aldon repeated slowly. "He was a child."

"His mother was one of us and posted on a secondment to Belgrade for a few years. Her home unit and home base were in Budapest. Children always go with their mothers in our culture, though if Istvan had been magical, I could have argued over it. But he wasn't—he was dhampir only, and as much favour as the Council shows me, that only goes so far." Alex swallowed. "Her and her unit were attacked on her transfer home. Both she and Istvan died in the firefight."

"My condolences," Francesca said softly, and from her voice Aldon knew that she was truly saddened to hear it. "He was only a baby."

Alex shook his head. "It's not uncommon in our world—only a risk we live."

* * *

He was in the canteen, setting down a tray holding a hearty bowl of goulash and a hunk of bread beside his second-in-command Élodie, when the cacophony of noise around him sorted itself out into clear words.

"Unit 12—" someone said, their voice grim. "Did you hear?"

"Five dead is the rumour," came the reply. "No names yet, command is probably contacting the next-of-kin now."

Alex's grip was hard on Élodie's forearm. His second-in-command, old enough to be his mother and then some, winced slightly.

"Unit 12?" he asked, keeping his voice down. Melinda had been with Unit 12, with Istvan. She wasn't a part of Unit 12 formally, but it was a routine unit transfer and it had been safest for them to travel as part of the unit back to Budapest base.

"I don't know anything more than anyone else, Captain," Élodie had replied, dipping a piece of bread into her own goulash. She was worried, but it was a worry that they all lived with. "At this point, no news is good news. If central command doesn't call for you, they're fine."

"Right," Alex replied, turning to his own bowl of stew, and ignoring the speculative glances that came across the tables at him all dinner. The compound was a fishbowl, and while some Stormwings and a few dhampir lived off the grounds, most didn't. It was known that he had a son that had been travelling with the caravan, and as the hour passed, he both listened for the creak of the door and he tried not listen for it.

His efforts at willing away bad news failed. Before the end of the dinner hour, Staff Sergeant Bakaity had appeared at his elbow, silent but with a slip of paper requesting his presence before Commander Andelić, Commander of Belgrade Base.

"I'll be there shortly," was all he said in reply, and Staff Sergeant Bakaity nodded sharply and left, his expression blank from too many times delivering the same news to others. Despite his words, Alex took his time wiping the last dregs of his stew with his bread.

"You said shortly," Élodie reminded him, after he had dawdled for a few minutes too long. "The news won't change no matter how long you sit here and wait it out. Go lance the wound, Captain—if you're fortunate, maybe they're only going to order us out on the clean-up operation."

"Even you don't believe that," Alex retorted, but she was right. He stood up, returned the tray to the collection station, and made his way to central command with heavy feet.

It wasn't that he and Melinda had been close. Rather, they had been drunk, and she had been pretty, and she had found him handsome. In the Order, that was often all one needed for a night, and a night was all they needed to make a child. It was easier with Melinda than it had been with Cho, or so Alex had thought—they lived by the same rules, fought by the same rules, and there was nothing between them but a general sense of camaraderie and friendship. Melinda was not Cho—Melinda did not need him or rely on him the way that Cho once had, and so Alex had felt safe.

He had met his son, of course. The babe had been in headquarters with him the entirety of his short life, and absent two three-month mission tours, Alex had looked in on him often. He had known that Istvan would follow his mother back to Budapest when she was called back to her home position, but Budapest was not far from Belgrade and all Order bases were well-defended. He had not worried overmuch.

So, when the order to attend central command had appeared, he was taken aback by his own reaction. This was not supposed to happen.

This was never supposed to happen. Not to him—not even if this had happened to others.

"Commander Andelić," Alex said, walking into the commander's office and saluting with dread. The Commander was a tired looking woman with dark hair, tied severely into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her uniform was crisp, and despite her youthful-looking appearance, Alex could tell from her eyes that she was far older than him. Élodie had once said that Commander Andelić had been a unit captain when she was young, so she had to be old enough to be Alex's grandmother, at least.

"At ease, Captain," Commander Andelić said, her voice kinder than Alex had ever heard before. "I assume word has gone out already in the troops—it's impossible to keep a lid on anything like this. Unit 12 was attacked enroute to Budapest."

"I had heard," Alex replied tersely.

Commander Andelić looked at him, her expression sympathetic. "Your friend, Lieutenant Melinda Ivanova Szabo, and your son, Istvan Aleksandrovich Szabo—I'm very sorry to report that they are among the casualties. We will cover, of course, all the funerary expenses. Lieutenant Szabo's family is making arrangements for her already, but as the father—your son's funerary arrangements will be up to you for direction."

There was a pause, and Alex wet his lips. He'd never had to make these arrangements before—funeral pyres were common, and Alex had built his share of them, but it didn't feel right. "What are my options? And—the conditions of the bodies?"

"The Stormwings attached to Unit 12 survived and placed preservation spells on the dead," Commander Andelić explained, her expression impersonal. "The usual choices are burial or a funeral pyre, but you may want to choose the location, first. The Unit is continuing to Budapest with support of Unit 3, and Lieutenant Szabo's family has requested a funeral pyre in the Budapest compound for her. Your son, however, is small enough to be shipped back to Belgrade under spell if you wish."

"Please," Alex replied shortly. He didn't have the words to add more, not if he wanted to keep control of himself before his commander. "Belgrade, and a burial. With his toy rabbit, if you please."

"It'll be done." Commander Andelić paused. "My condolences, Captain. This is something that happens more often than it should, and it never becomes easier. If you ever need a listening ear, or other support, I hope that you will come to me. We have resources for this that I would be all too happy to refer you to."

Even as the offer was being made, Alex knew he would never take it. He would never, ever go to his commander and admit anything like weakness. The death of a child in war was something that he knew half or more of the other dhampir had experienced, and he would not be the one showing that he couldn't handle it. He would cope, because he had no choice but to cope, and that would be all.

"Thank you," he said stiffly, and then he paused and sucked in a breath. "Commander…"

"Captain?"

"A unit will need to be dispatched to handle the threat on the road to Budapest." His words were slow, coiling out from him like pooling mercury. "Unit 3's priority was no doubt to secure the survivors of Unit 12 and to ensure they reached Budapest in safety; Unit 8 is well-rested after two months of duty within headquarters, and we have no orders yet on a new deployment. I suggest we be ordered to clean up the threat."

There was a moment of silence, and Commander Andelić's hazel eyes were too knowing. Still, when she replied, her words were all that Alex needed to hear.

"I will give it some thought, Captain," Commander Andelić said. "Dismissed."

Alex saluted again and walked out. If he couldn't be there to protect his son, then at least he would burn out the coven that had killed him.

* * *

"As long as my requests are in the range of reasonable, I do normally get what I ask for," Alex commented, looking into the mug of tea that Francesca had not so subtly slid into his hands halfway through the tale. Considering that the brandy bottle was a third gone at this point, Aldon approved. "I am dhampir, and I am magical—I am powerful even by my people's standards. They try to keep me happy, and in line."

"I assume you took apart the coven responsible," Aldon murmured, with his own sip of tea. "You would be more upset if you hadn't."

"It was almost a decade ago." Alex paused, his eyes dark. "But yes, we did. Cleaned the responsible coven with fire, and it felt—not good, but satisfying. Not the Christmas that most of my team wanted, but they—for all my faults, they follow me. They still do."

"I'm sure you're a good leader despite your faults," Francesca said, leaning over to peer at the two pictures that Alex had slid over. He had spoken about the blond boy on the left, but not the dark-haired one on the right. That one couldn't have been older than Istvan, but Aldon somehow suspected, given the age and wear on the photo, that he had been subject to the same fate. "Who is this?"

"Stefan Aleksandrovich Dinescu." Alex picked the photo up, looking at it. "I had—well. Belgrade is the Order headquarters, and unit rotations and secondments through are normal. They called in a unit from Romania to cover for Unit 8 while we burnt out the nest on the road to Budapest, and after that—I was feeling—"

He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed.

"On the rebound," Francesca finished. "Lonely, and sad, and looking for a distraction."

"Yes." Alex took a sip of his tea, his blue eyes searching out Aldon's gaze with a sense of defensiveness. "I think you have to understand—we aren't faithful lovers usually, and dhampir children are rare. Between Cho, and Melinda, and Iuliana, I probably also slept with two dozen others or more. Mostly women, a few men. Promiscuity is—is encouraged, since our children sometimes don't take the dhampir traits, and if they do, they often don't survive to adulthood."

"I'm not judging," Aldon said, then he grimaced as his own gift came and bit him. "Or rather—I shall attempt not to judge. I understand that things are very different in your world."

Alex's surprised laugh said that he had noticed the grimace, but it died out quickly when his daughter stirred in his arms. He shushed her, rocking her slightly though Aldon could see that she was really too big to be rocked anymore, but she quieted. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

"Stefan was born on October 23, 2005. I didn't know him very well—his mother went back to our Bucharest base before he was born. He was dhampir, but not magical." Alex took a deep breath before he looked up. "I stopped by Bucharest base a few times to see him while heading on or off deployment, but otherwise he was left to his mother. I thought it was best, that way."

"After your first two, I can see why you would have done that," Francesca said, comforting as she traced a rune in the air to warm his tea.

Alex laughed again, this time with no humour. "It didn't help. He died on December 27, 2007, shortly after his second birthday."

* * *

The summons to central command this time was unexpected. It was shortly after Christmas, and while Unit 8 had drawn the guard straw over the holidays rather than receiving leave, Alex couldn't say that he minded. Many dhampir, without family on the outside, stayed on base—the holiday decorations quickly swamped the compound, and it would have felt the season no matter where he had been. Next year, he would get a few weeks in England.

The holidays were also a prime time for attacks. Vampires did not lack intelligence—they knew well the importance of the season for many, and they lay in wait. Dhampir visiting family were always cautioned to take extra care, but it was too difficult to forbid them from visits entirely.

It was the responsibility of Unit 8 to take care of any attacks within Belgrade and the surrounding area. But Alex hadn't heard of any today, and normally rumours flew through the compound before any formal command request.

"Commander Andelić," he said, stepping smartly in front of her desk and saluting. "Reporting as requested."

"At ease." The commander had deep lines worn around her eyes. "Captain Dragić. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I've had a report from Commander Bogdan in Bucharest. I'm sorry to tell you that there's been an attack in the city. Second Lieutenant Iuliana Andreyevna Dinescu and her son were reported as casualties. It appears that she was visiting a sister and her sister's family while they were in the capital, and despite her precautions—"

Alex could barely hear her words over the rushing in his ears. "She should not have left the base," he snapped, slamming a hand on his commander's desk, his words sharp and a surprise even to himself. He hadn't known his son barely at all—a few days here and there did not a relationship make. But he had expected his mother to keep him safe. "She should have known better."

"Captain." Commander Andelić's voice was stern. "You know as well as I do that it is impossible to forbid our people from keeping family connections outside the Order. You also know well that Second Lieutenant Dinescu was known for her careful precautions—she did not have a reputation for acting rashly."

Unlike you, the commander's words hinted, but Alex ignored it. "The funerary arrangements?"

Commander Andelić shook her head. "There was little left of either of them. What was left of both them, and of the late lieutenant's sister and her family, has been committed to the traditional funeral pyre—there were concerns about contamination."

Alex swallowed. _Contamination_ meant that the responding force had been worried that Iuliana, her sister and her family, and his son had been turned. In such cases, there was no choice but the funeral pyre. "Permission to go to Bucharest, Commander."

"Denied." A hint of sympathy came into his commander's eyes. "There is nothing for you to do, Captain Dragić. Units 6 and 10 are resident and on duty in Bucharest, and they are handling the threat. For you to go would be an insult to their skill, and I forbid it. No matter who you are."

"I—" Alex cut himself off, the blood pounding in his head. He needed to do something—and if he couldn't hare off to Bucharest himself to mete his revenge, then he needed something else to do. "Request for deployment, Commander. A hunt and exterminate mission."

"And Unit 8?" The commander raised an eyebrow. "You only came back from deployment in November, and you are not scheduled to move out again until March."

"Unit 8 has had six weeks of easy duty in Belgrade." Alex stood stiffly, knowing full well that half his unit had been looking forward to it and wouldn't be pleased to hear that it had been cut months short. But they could live with it. "They are ready to move out on my orders."

"Are they." Commander Andelić's eyes were all too knowing. "I will consider it, Captain."

Alex knew the dismissal when he heard it, and he turned around and left for the training grounds. He needed to move, and someone would be in the training grounds to give him sport.

* * *

"Unit 8 shipped out three weeks later." Alex stopped, reaching for his tea and taking a swallow. "A clean and sweep mission deep in the Caucasus, nearly six months long. I doubt they intended to send us out as early as they did, but I was—well. I was not easy to live with, in those weeks. They started calling me the Hammer, because I smashed through anyone and everyone in the training yards, then they decided that it was better that I smash through longstanding vampire problems in the field than in home base. Unit 8 gained renown, as did I, but I cannot say I gained many friends in that time."

"Did you feel better after?" Francesca asked. "Did it make you feel better, being deployed?"

"No." Alex shook his head. "It was only satisfying, and the work and the time—it wore off the anger. I was very angry at Iuliana. I thought she had been careless, for all that she did always have a reputation for being careful. That took time to wear, and now—"

He cut himself off, setting down the mug and reaching for the brandy instead.

"Now?" Francesca prompted.

Alex shook his head, taking several long swallows from the bottle of brandy. Not now, Aldon read in the gesture, even as he learned forward into the story. A glance at the clock said that it was past ten-thirty, but it was too far into the story for Aldon to want to call an end. His children were asleep, and from the expression of Alex's daughter burrowed into his shirt, she was out cold as well. The Dreamless Sleep was doing its work.

"When we got back into Belgrade, it was summer of 2008," Alex went on, and his words were slow, almost forced. "In the autumn, it's renewals and new recruitments for our Stormwing contracts. Each unit has two or three magic-users as backup. Some, like Ron, join us right out if the Eyrie and stay with us long-term—others reconsider from year to year. A few very accomplished Stormwings, like Lina, join us for specific missions shorter than a year, but a year is the standard. And that September, Fei joined us."

"Fei?"

"Fei Long Lin." Alex sighed, shutting his eyes in pain. "You've met her. Neal's cousin."

* * *

He didn't recognize the new figure in the middle of the training grounds. It was September, and new faces, new Stormwings, flitted in and around the compound waiting for their assignments. Alex couldn't say that he cared; both of his own Stormwings would be staying with him, though Alex wondered if they didn't regret it after their last six months. Ron in particular seemed to be considering putting in for a transfer to, as he called it, a "somewhat saner captain, as far as that goes around here" but Alex didn't worry about it. Ron was the sort of person who always chose the devil he knew over the one he didn't, and he'd never carried out his threats of a transfer before.

And then she turned to face him, and with a shock of surprise, Alex realized he did know her. Short hair, tied half out of her round face, tanned skin, and full lips curled into a smile as she looked up at him. Her fan snapped shut.

"Aleksandr Dragić Willoughby," she said, and her voice was low for a woman's. "Captain, I should say."

"Fei Long Lin, isn't it?" Alex replied, smiling slightly in reply. He knew her, in the sense that he had seen her before and knew who she was, but they had never spoken. "I didn't know you had gone for Stormwing training."

"I've been here and there." She shrugged. "Got disowned by my family shortly after the war, stayed with my cousin Neal at Queenscove until I couldn't live with the guilt of imposing on him anymore, then I went to the Eyrie. Then I bounced around on contracts for awhile—a bit of wetwork, a little grey work, a lot of contracts with Stormwing Avery, but it was time for a change. Stormwing Fei Long "Freedom" Lin, at your service. My torture limit is thirteen minutes and twelve seconds."

"I can hardly think of anything less free than being a part of the Order," Alex replied, raising an eyebrow. "This is a military organization, Stormwing Lin—we thrive on discipline."

Fei let out a laugh. "Got me there, Captain. Fine, Stormwing Avery kicked me out of her firm and told me to go learn some discipline before I got myself and the people with me killed. Says I remind her too much of herself, and she won't be risking any of her other contracts with me until I shape up. So here I am! Fancy a match?"

Alex couldn't help but smile at her brazen admission that, even by Stormwing standards, Fei was considered to be exceptionally wild. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you sure you can handle me? I am the Dhampiri Hammer—might be better for you to start with some of the others before working up to me."

"I could," Fei drew out the words out slowly, but the smirk on her face said that she had no intention of doing so. "But then again, you broke my jaw in '95, and I never got to pay you back for it."

* * *

"I wiped the floor with her, of course." Alex's expression was nostalgic. "Completely destroyed her, had her pinned on the ground without magic in all of twenty seconds. You'd think that she would have learned, but no. The next day, she found me in the training yards again, and again, and again."

He paused, then a wide grin flashed across his tired face. "I might have been annoyed by it, if Fei weren't so bloody _fun_."

* * *

"There is such a thing as admitting defeat, you know," Alex said, hiding a smile as Fei appeared, almost as if she had been lying in wait, the moment that Alex showed up on the training grounds. "Thus far, I've won eight combats—you, none. Try training with others."

"I do train with others," Fei retorted, but she was smiling. "Quite a lot, but I have more than eight matches to pay you back for. There was the Tournament, and I understand you beat up Neal some sixty times, too. I like Neal."

"As do I, but I don't believe he cares about his defeats," Alex replied, as his hard-fought battle to hide his own smile failed. "Learn to let it go, Fei."

"Letting things go is not in my nature." Fei snapped her fan a few times. "My other attributes are honour and perseverance, so I couldn't. Let's _go_ , Alex."

Alex let out a long-suffering sigh. "Well, if you like the taste of dirt that much…"

"Bring it on, Dhampiri Hammer." Fei was grinning broadly. "One day, I'll win. And then I'll buy drinks for the bar, and you'll never hear the end of it."

"Unlikely." Alex smirked, unable to resist the taunt. "But you can let yourself believe that."

* * *

"She was assigned to Unit 1, which is resident in Belgrade." Alex sighed, the smile on his face disappearing. "I hate to say that I was happy about it. Or—that's not right. It wasn't a surprise that she was assigned to stay in Belgrade, because she had to be integrated into a unit that spoke English, which cut out most of our other bases and units. There was a shortlist that she'd go to, and an opening with Unit 1. It was logical, and I shouldn't have felt anything at all about it. But I did."

He stopped to reach for his mug of tea. By now, they were on their fourth teapot, but each one was kept steaming with Francesca's magic. Aldon subtly encouraged it, since the brandy was half-empty already.

"Fei was different," Alex declared suddenly, slamming down his mug of tea. "She wasn't Cho, who relied on me through the Tournament and the war. She wasn't someone I had to keep safe, because even if I could beat her easily, she held her own in the training courts. She didn't need my protection, but at the same time, she wasn't like Melinda or Iuliana or any other dhampir. The other dhampir, they always looked at me and saw a _prize_. A prince of our people, even before I became the Dhampiri Hammer. Fei looked at me and saw—I don't know. A friend, or someone who could be her friend. We had a lot in common, from our interests to the people we knew to our pasts."

"It sounds like she became more than a friend," Aldon noted quietly. He resisted the urge to ask whether Neal or Fei's other family members knew. Aside from being fairly certain he wouldn't like the answer, he didn't want to disrupt the flow of Alex's story.

"Yes—but not as quickly as you might believe."

* * *

Alex hurried to the training courts. It was summer, and Unit 8 had just returned from deployment in Azerbaijan. Two covens tracked and burnt out, less than Alex would have liked, but a successful mission nonetheless.

More importantly, Unit 1 was on base. And that meant that Fei, for all that she insisted on living off-base in a rented flat a ten-minute walk from the compound, would almost certainly be there. It was a part of their duties, and as wild and free as Fei made herself out to be, she had never to his knowledge shirked her duties.

Alex thought the freedom part had more to do with her own personal freedoms—to choose where she wanted to live, to decide what jobs she wanted to take, to direct her own path in life. It wasn't an inability to abide by discipline, but something deeper and highly personal. Alex thought it had to do with blowing off her family's expectations, but he had never asked. She'd only smile and laugh it off anyway.

True to his thoughts, Fei stood in the centre of the training yard, facing off against Second Lieutenant Serge Arkanian, one of the dhampir in her unit. Her footwork was, as usual, precise—she danced outside of his reach, her spells flying to trap her opponent. Her opponent, used to both her tricks and the usual methodology for fighting mages, kept her close. Mages were tricky at a distance, where their magic gave them an advantage—the usual dhampir strategy was to hold them in arms' reach, where their own strength, speed, and resilience would hold an edge.

In an actual fight, Alex knew that Fei would favour fire spells, which were both less exhaustive and complicated for her and which were deadly against their enemy. In a fight with him, she would use fire too, but not in a practice spar against a non-wizard dhampir.

The end was quick—Arkanian didn't notice the trip spell that Fei had laid as she twisted out of his grab for her, and despite a last-minute flail, he couldn't keep his footing. Fei was on him, her fan pointed at his throat.

"I yield," Arkanian panted into the dirt. "Good match, Fei."

"Not so bad yourself," she replied, getting off of him and offering a hand up. She nodded at the blade that lay in the dirt beside him. "Weapons are meant to be used, Serge. If you hit me, it's my fault for not blocking. Cuts heal, especially with magic."

"I'll keep it in mind." Arkanian smiled, then he caught sight of Alex. A slight tilt of his head, and his smile turned mischievous. "Another challenger, Fei. Fresh off deployment, it seems."

Fei turned around, and her face lit into a bright smile. "So it is. Welcome back, Alex. How was Azerbaijan?"

"Fei. Second Lieutenant Arkanian. Azerbaijan was as expected, continuing strife in Nagorno-Karabakh is making the region a vampire's playground." Alex sighed, shaking his head. "They'll be sending out Unit 5, but it'll be constant clean and sweeps until the Muggle hostilities are resolved. Still, it's good to be back."

"Time for a match, then?" Fei's dark eyes danced.

Alex looked her over very conspicuously, then at her previous opponent. "I don't know. You seem rather tired, and you know I prefer to knock you into the dirt when you're fresh."

"Oh, come off it." Fei scowled, crossing her arms as Arkanian laughed. "I'm fresh enough!"

"I'll get out of the way of the inevitable," Arkanian said, slapping Fei on the shoulder. "Remember what we talked about, Fei. Captain Dragić."

"Second Lieutenant Arkanian." Alex nodded, a willing dismissal, though he was mildly curious about Arkanian's other line. He expected Fei to have gotten better while he was deployed, but was Unit 1 giving her tips for defeating him?

Not that it would matter if they did. Really, it would be good if she integrated closely with her team—it was almost time for Stormwing annual contract renewals, and a strong personal connection with her team would improve her chances of staying on. He didn't want to see her go.

"Come on, then, Alex." Fei gestured to him with her fan. "Let's see how you are after two and a half months of fieldwork."

"Sharper than you," Alex replied easily, even as he stepped out into the training yard. "But it seems like you need a reminder. A hundred and seventy-six to none, isn't it?"

"Who's counting now?" Fei grinned. "It'll just make my eventual victory even sweeter."

They were drawing a crowd, to no one's surprise, and the sparring match began as it always did—with a volley of fire from Fei, which Alex dodged with no issues. A rune of his own had a blasting spell going off in her face, and she dove out of the way. Alex took the split-second opportunity to bound forward, pressing his advantage with his blade.

Time lost meaning, as they quickly fell into the rhythm they had long since established. Fei was fast, almost as fast as a dhampir, and her stamina and endurance were good, but she didn't have the sheer physical strength that Alex did. She was, however, better with magic than Alex could ever hope to be, and she used her knowledge with no reservations. Alex didn't know a good third of the spells in her repertoire, only that it would be a very bad idea to be hit by any of them.

He moved, pushing and prying for an opening. Openings didn't just appear, not at their level of combat. They had to be created, through the dance of feints, strikes, shoves, and blocks. Alex knew Fei's speed, he knew where she would go and when she would be there, and he could read in the movements of her fan where she would go and what she could do next.

Until he couldn't. Or rather—he could, but for a single, critical instant, Fei had slowed. He moved to block a fire spell that _did not come_ , and he didn't see the spell that she had to have dropped earlier at his feet. He went down, hard, on his back into the dirt and she was on him, her knees straddling his chest.

It should not have been as hot as it was. She was in her usual summer workout clothes—thin black pants that clung to her legs, magically reinforced, a light v-neck t-shirt that was already stained with dirt and sweat. He could see the outline of her sports bra underneath her t-shirt, the bright pink staining the cloth above it. He could also feel his own reaction to her, and he dearly hoped the crowd they had drawn hadn't noticed the tent in his own trousers.

"Yield?" Fei asked, a cat's predatory smile already forming on her face.

Alex scowled. "That was a dirty trick," he complained, even if it was nothing of the sort. Mixing up her tempo was a recognized strategy, and the only reason Alex hadn't seen it coming was that she had never done it before. Fei was fast, and she liked using her speed.

"You can yield, or I'll carve my name right…" She traced her fan along his cheekbone. "Here."

The edge of her fan was sharp, and Alex grimaced. "I yield, I yield," he growled. "One to a hundred and seventy-six is still pitiful, Fei."

"No," she corrected him as she stood up and offered him his hand. "One to a hundred and seventy-six is a _start,_ Alex, a _start_."

Alex shook his head, grabbing her hand and letting her pull him to his feet. He didn't need the support, but it was polite, and he liked feeling her heat. Around him, he could hear cheering, the sound of their fellow soldiers congratulating her on a hard-won success. He didn't begrudge her the win.

"Tomorrow," he threatened mildly. "We'll see you try this again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow isn't today, and today I'm a _winner!"_ Fei crowed in response, before turning to their audience. "Drinks tonight! On me, for anyone who is free!"

Alex shook his head again, but a smile was already spreading on his face.

* * *

"I assume you went?" Aldon said, leaning forward slightly with interest. "Or were you on duty?"

"No, I went." Alex was smiling at the memory, cuddling the child in his arms as she murmured in her sleep. "Fei had offered to buy, and I wasn't going to turn that down. In any case, from a leadership perspective, it was important I go; a friendly rivalry between Stormwing Lin of Unit 1 and Captain Dragić of Unit 8 encourages our respective units to train harder, but only if everyone realizes that it's in jest. I wanted to make sure that people knew there were no hard feelings about the loss, and it was a good opportunity for our units to mingle. Often units work together, and strong bonds are valuable.

"That night…"

* * *

The bar reeked of smoke and alcohol, too many Muggles and dhampir alike lighting up a cigarette. It was a familiar scent, if strong, and Alex couldn't say he minded.

 _The Wild Arms_ was the favoured dhampir bar, and also generally a good mixing ground of both Muggles and the magical. In Serbia and most of the Balkans, the lines between the magical and not were blurred, the International Statute of Secrecy well-nigh unenforceable even a decade after the Balkan wars. This was Belgrade. Mysterious things happened here.

There was no better way of attracting a crowd of dhampir to a party than an offer of free drinks, and Alex could see that a back section of the bar was already full of a mix of Units 1 and 8. Fei sat in the centre, laughing with two of her unit-mates, while Ron sat across from her nursing his own beer and listening to her story with amusement.

"Alex!" She spotted him and stood, waving him over. "Come sit! What are you having? Beer? Vodka? I'm pretty sure the bartender offered me some of the _rakija_ his grandmother made, but I'm not sure I dare try it."

"Dragan offered you his grandmother's _rakija?_ " Alex smiled, taking a seat beside Ron. He raised a hand and gestured for a beer. "He must like you."

"They say the best alcohol is made in home distilleries." Ron grinned, taking a swig of his own beer. "Look at single-malt scotch—used to just be distilled in people's basements, then sometime in the mid-nineteenth century or something, they standardized so they could tax it."

"The key word there is standardizing, Ron." One of the other dhampir across the table, a new private named Maria Vasileva de Santos, snorted. "You don't want to try Dragan's grandmother's _rakija_. It would burn your face off."

"She's right," Alex agreed. "If you can't do shots of vodka, you can't do shots of _rakija_. On the other hand, if you can…"

"Eugh." Fei wrinkled her nose. "I want to remember at least half of my evening, thanks. Though, if _you_ want to drink it, it is cheaper than half of the drinks this lot are getting, so…"

"You were the one who offered drinks for everyone." Alex accepted his beer from the wait staff who came by. "Don't be a cheapskate."

"Well." Fei grinned. "It is just the once, and I'm celebrating!"

As much as Fei drank, it became clear several hours later that she was not good at holding her liquor. She wasn't quite as bad as Aldon, but she had to come close, but certainly she was not keeping up the Slavs. Unlike Aldon, and fortunately so, Fei was a happy drunk—the more she drank, the happier and louder and freer she became. Alex kept a close eye on her, and when the party wound down just past midnight, he found himself walking a staggering Fei back to her flat.

"Need a second," Fei muttered, tripping slightly over her feet as she went to the closest patch of dirt. Alex caught her by the arm, her skin unusually warm, and held her up as she retched for several long minutes, making sure she didn't fall face-first into her own vomit.

"Why drink so much?" Alex asked, caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "You've proven yourself time and again, and you defeated the Dhampiri Hammer today. There was no need to try to keep up at the bar."

Fei heaved again. "Because it was fun. I enjoy drinking, Alex—I enjoy going out, and having fun with people, and just… letting off steam. And I'm fine. I didn't _need_ to throw up, I just knew I'd feel better if I did. I feel better already."

"You won't tomorrow," Alex replied, but he was smiling. It had been a fun night, and he couldn't begrudge her that. "You'll regret this tomorrow."

"We're _magical_ , Alex," Fei reminded him, straightening and leaning against him. "This is what Hangover Cures were invented for—so we could go out and have fun, and not suffer the consequences. It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

Alex looked around him. It was Belgrade, and so much of the city was still covered in ugly Soviet-style buildings. But underneath the years of communism, there was also the old-world elegance of the downtown centre, where history seeped from every crack in the streets. The Fortress loomed, beautiful and deadly, in the centre, and from their position Alex could just see the lights of the city reflecting off the Sava River. It was warm, but with the cool breeze blowing off the river, not too warm.

"It is," he agreed quietly, not letting go of Fei even if she seemed to be steady on her feet. She might not be so steady as she seemed, and better that he keep a hold on her in case she stumbled. She didn't comment, and they travelled the few short blocks to her well-warded flat in silence.

She lived on the fourth floor, the stairwells a perfect bottleneck in the event of an attack, and of course her own magic would let her blast an egress out if necessary. Headquarters was only a few minutes away, which was close enough for a Stormwing of Fei's skill, and of course vampires tended not to seek out Stormwings for outside attacks anyway. Dhampir were their favoured prey.

"Do you want to come in?" Fei asked abruptly, as she fumbled with her keys and dropped them. "Oh, hell. It's late and empty enough out here."

Alex leaned down and picked her keys up as Fei drew her fan and unlocked the door with magic. Her words could be interpreted in so many ways—there was the literal, or there was politeness, but there were also the more ulterior motives.

"Come in?" he repeated slowly, giving her a look. She had always been attractive, and she was even more so now, slightly flushed from the alcohol with her hair a flyaway mess from the wind. She was not beautiful, but there was something else about her—something that was and could only be Fei. "What do you mean, exactly?"

She stared back at him, perfectly direct, and Alex knew both that she had caught his meaning and that whatever throwing up she had done outside had cleared her faculties enough that she knew very well what she wanted and how to express it. "When I say come in, Alex, I mean— _come in_."

* * *

Alex laughed, and the sound of sudden joy was almost incongruous in the sombre night. Aldon glanced at the clock—it was near midnight now, well past the time that he and Francesca normally turned in, but one look at Francesca and he knew that she was too enraptured by the story to even think about going to bed. Well, that was the advantage of owning their own company—he would send a message to Benoit about handling any business that came up tomorrow, and Francesca would do the same to her team.

"It had been some time in coming, I think," he said, and the smile he wore took years off his face. "I'd probably been interested in her for months, else why would I have sought her out in the training yard as often as I did? Fei was smart, and she was funny, and she was—"

He cut himself off, thinking it over. "She wasn't beautiful, but she was something else. She attacked things—she knew what she wanted in life, and she chased it. For someone like me, who had my path set out before me from the moment I was born, that attitude was intoxicating. She took the things that I had always taken as a simple fact and showed me that they were worth living for, worth working for, worth doing. And she didn't treat me like a prince—to her, I wasn't Captain Dragić, the Dhampiri Hammer. I was just Alex. When I was with her, and no one else was around, I was just Alex, and we were—against the policies of the Order, we were in a relationship."

He stopped, the smile disappearing, and he cleared his throat. "My standing among my people is high—high enough that, like I said earlier, I often get what I want. For Fei and I, that meant that no one spoke to us about our relationship. As long as we didn't tell anyone about our relationship openly, neither of us were removed from our positions or transferred to another base. Sometimes, I wonder—

"But it doesn't matter." Alex looked down at his daughter, and his face softened. Aldon didn't really remember what Fei Long Lin had looked like, but he thought he could and did see something of the woman in the child's face. "It doesn't matter what I wonder. Either way, we saw a lot of each other in the next few months. Unit 1 was sent out on deployment for a two-month clean-and-sweep in Bosnia in October and November, while Unit 8 got leave; but we were both back in Belgrade by Christmas. And Fei fell pregnant."

* * *

The mere fact that their relationship had changed was no reason, in Alex's view, for him to take it easy on Fei in the training yard. It was almost the end of winter, nearing March, and the training yard had turned into a mush of co-mingled icy snow and mud. It was a good analogue for the field, where things were often cold, and often muddy, and even more often slippery. Good footing was key, as was good footwork, and he also had to say that there was additional satisfaction in beating someone into the literal mud.

By now, their match count was some two hundred and forty-one to eleven. Alex was on guard to Fei's occasional change in tempo—for her, the trick was to slow down at certain, unpredictable points and rely on Alex or any other dhampir being faster than her. Alex approved, because she was becoming a stronger fighter, and that meant she would be even better in the field.

They squared off as they usually did, opening combat with a long routine of spell-fire. Alex had long ago put away his wand, but regular combat with a witch had sharpened his rune-work. His own repertoire was broader than it had been a year ago, especially as he picked up a small set of Chinese runes and learned how to access his own elemental magic. His core was, most regrettably, water—the least effective for combat, but at least it doused Fei's fire spells easily enough.

The spell-fire was only the warm-up, and not a space that Alex liked to linger. He was not the magical fighter that Fei was—Fei was an heirloom-caster primary, runic secondary, and Alex knew well that the National Magic School of China focused on combat magic for their heirloom-caster class. She likely couldn't do many Charms or brew a potion to save her life, but in the realm of combat magic, she had him far outstripped in skill.

Alex was most effective when he could use his physical strength and endurance to his advantage, and that meant getting in to close-quarters melee combat. He drew a rune for a blasting curse, throwing it at Fei's feet, then while she was distracted blocking and dancing out of the blast radius, he threw himself forward.

Fei was expecting it, turning to face him with a few pointed slashing curses that hit their mark. She expected him to dodge—but Alex could take the pain better than he could afford to lose his advantage. He saw her eyes widen as she just dodged the thrust of his sword, but that was a movement that Alex expected.

He caught her with his free arm, dropping his sword and whirling her around to pin her arms. She struggled, trying to step on his instep, but Alex held firm.

"Is this how you treat your soon-to-be baby momma?" Fei panted, a mischievous grin in her lips as she stomped on his foot. "Twins, the Healer thinks. Just so you know before you throw me into the freezing cold, concrete-hard mud."

Alex was so surprised that his grip loosened just slightly, and it was all that Fei needed to turn the tables on him. Her feet widened, finding sure footing, and her hands locked on his arms, and she heaved. He went sailing over her hip, face-first into the mud, and her fan was pointed at his neck. "And that's an even _twelve_ wins."

Alex shook his head, sitting up from the mud, holding his hands up to yield. "That was hardly fair, Fei. Lying to gain advantage is dishonourable, I will have you know."

"But it's not a lie." Fei's lips quirked into a small smile as she crouched down beside him and lowered her voice. "I just chose an advantageous moment to tell you, that's all. Are you… happy?"

"Twins." Alex sighed, rubbing mud into his hair as he ran his fingers through it. For a moment, his last three children haunted him—Alexander Chang Weasley, who this year began at Hogwarts, Istvan Aleksandrovich Szabo and Stefan Aleksandrovich Dinescu, who were dead.

But this was Fei. Fei was strong, and Fei was stationed right here in Belgrade with him. Alex would be there for these ones, and despite the ones that came before, that gave him hope.

* * *

"The twins were born on September 9, 2010." Alex smiled down at the little girl in his lap. "A little younger than your Alice, if I remember your letters rightly. Marija is the younger of them—Marija Aleksandrovna Lin. She's magical, and with our magical strength, Fei always said she would be powerful. But she isn't dhampir."

"A little younger than Alice, yes," Aldon replied slowly, looking at the sleeping child. She looked older than his Alice, but Alice had been born in June. "But you said—twins."

"Her sister Tatiana is both magical and dhampir." Alex's voice dropped, becoming cold and remote. "It was what the Council was hoping for: a child as powerful as me, with both the magical and dhampir gifts, and a child that will be hunted no matter where she goes. The two gifts are opposed and rarely twin—my other children had the same chances, and they all inherited only one or the other, but Tatiana received both. And with Tatiana, our lives changed."

* * *

The command to attend Council Chambers came as a surprise. To Alex's knowledge, there was no reason why he would be called to attend _Council_. He was captain of a unit, but he reported to his base commander, not to the entire Council. Any orders to move out would come from Commander Andelić, just as any bad news from the other bases or abroad would come through her.

A small part of him gnawed at the persistent worry—was it his mother? Or his grandparents? They were both outside the Order, and potentially any bad news about them would come from the Council. They had been involved in his mother's life, Alex knew, because after his father died it was his mother who had struck the deal for his care directly with the Council. But he had heard from his mother recently, and as far he knew, there was no unrest in England.

The Council wouldn't know anything about Alexander Chang Weasley since he had been adopted out, and in any case, Cho too had written recently with a new photo. It was September, and the boy had recently returned to Hogwarts, and while Alex knew as well as anyone that Hogwarts could be an exceptionally dangerous place, it hadn't been so since the end of the revolution. It couldn't be anything about him.

And everyone else he cared about was in Belgrade base. After much effort, Alex had convinced Fei to move into the compound at the beginning of her third trimester, and Fei was even now in the infirmary recovering from childbirth. Twins, just as the Healer had predicted—one purely magical, and the other both magical and dhampir. They were sleeping, safe and sound, in twin bassinets beside Fei's bed.

He entered the Council chambers, blinking against the light. As much as their hated enemy needed the darkness, the dhampir appreciated the light. Wide windows let in light through most of the compound, and most dhampir, as if resisting the urge to succumb to the darkness, refused on principle to have curtains or anything like them. Fangs or not, they were not creatures of the night.

One wall of the Council chamber was entirely glass. In front of them, Alex could make out the shadows of eight chairs, each one of them lined behind a table. It was intimidating, and as his eyes adjusted to the change in the light, he could see that five of those chairs were occupied. He didn't know any of these dhampir personally, but from their high positions, he could only imagine that they were among the oldest of their kind.

He saluted smartly. "Captain Dragić, reporting."

"At ease, Captain." The words were slow, the accent not one that Alex could recognize. The speaker was blue-eyed, the slant of his mouth considering. "We hear that there are congratulations in order."

"Thank you," Alex replied stiffly. The Council had never called him to congratulate him on the birth of any of his children before—indeed, mostly they had ignored them, just as they ignored the births of any other dhampir children. There were policies in place, and those were what were followed.

"We understand that one of your newborn daughters is like yourself." The second voice was warm, which only made Alex more mistrustful. This was not normal, and having been in the Order his entire life, Alex had learned not to trust anything unexpected. "A dhampir with magic."

"We believe so, General." He didn't know their names, but he didn't think it was entirely important that he do so. "However, magical strength is not something that can be known for certain until she reaches thirteen."

"We'll have to ensure that she does so, then," a third voice said, and when he looked over, he could see that this dhampir was wearing a friendly smile on her broad, open face. It was a face that encouraged trust, which Alex did not trust in the slightest. "Captain Dragić, you'll find that certain… privileges are accorded to dhampir who manage to produce children with both dhampir and magical traits. You know yourself that you are rare, and that you have had an outsize impact on the vampire threat. We need more people with your skills. Call me Anja—Anja Hauser."

"Privileges," Alex repeated, his mouth dry. He cleared his throat. "General Hauser, if I may be so bold, what privileges are we discussing?"

"The policy against relationships, for one." The woman ticked them off on her fingers. "It hasn't missed our attention that you are exceptionally close to Stormwing Lin. Should you wish to engage in a more… traditional relationship with her, the rules can be bent in that direction."

"She wouldn't want that," Alex replied, even if he had no idea whether that was the case or not. He didn't think she would be, but he didn't know. General Hauser was implying that if he wished, he could marry her—and, ideally, produce more dhampir children with magic. "Fei is not traditional. That's why she became a Stormwing."

"There are other possible privileges." The first dhampir who had spoken shrugged slightly. "Better housing, whether inside or outside the compound, though inside the compound would be safer. Fewer deployments, that you can spend more time together. Name your desires, Captain."

"I don't want anything," Alex replied firmly. "Thank—thank you for your consideration, but we don't want anything."

"You may find that you do, in time." General Hauser smiled at him, and Alex resolved not to request anything of them at all if he could avoid it. "Do keep us in mind, Captain, should anything occur to you. I'm sure Stormwing Lin will be looking for you—you ought to return to her side. Dismissed."

"Generals." Alex saluted, and he strode out of the Council chambers as fast as was polite.

* * *

"I told Fei, of course." Alex took another drink from his mug of tea. "After she moved back to her flat in Belgrade. I must have doubled or tripled the ward-strength on her flat before she moved back, but she insisted. She never wanted to live in the compound, because it reminded her too much of her family. So, I checked the wards, then paid a Stormwing known for his wards to reinforce them, and we used Extension Charms to widen the flat to give her and the girls enough space. And I…"

He fell silent.

"And you…" Aldon prompted, after he had been silent a moment too long.

"I continued my relationship with Fei." Alex sighed, reaching for the brandy. "In retrospect, and with the Council's interest in us, maybe it would have been better if I had ended it there. But I couldn't—even if I had, Fei was always going to be in danger because of Tatiana, or at least that's what I told myself. Fei was strong, and she could handle herself, but I was stronger and the girls—"

He coughed in embarrassment. "I love the girls," he admitted, and Aldon saw absolutely nothing for him to be embarrassed about. "Aside from Istvan, I didn't get to see any of my other children grow at all—but for Marija and Tatiana, I was there. We were outside the compound, and it wasn't strange for me to look in on them. Inside the compound, mothers look after the children in the nursery, and fathers might occasionally visit, but it isn't seen as—as normal. But outside the compound, it was different. Fei would drop them off at the nursery in the compound every day before heading to training and her other work, and I would walk them all home at the end of the day. Sometimes, when the girls fussed, or when Fei wanted me to, and when I wasn't back on duty, I'd stay the night."

"You moved in with her," Aldon summarized, seeing where Alex was going.

"Not formally," Alex said, smoothing a curl around his daughter's face. "I still lived in the compound, my rooms and belongings were still in the compound. But I stayed with Fei more and more often, three or four nights a week. We didn't make any special requests of the Council—neither Fei nor I trusted them—but we knew that they were watching, and we suspected that they were arranging things anyway. It was nothing too obvious, nothing that anyone could point to directly, but…"

Alex shrugged. "It was there. Both of us still went on missions, and separately—but they were shorter missions, only two or three months long, never the six-month tours in the Caucasus. I was back in Azerbaijan twice on clean-and-sweeps, Bosnia once; Fei did a three-month tour in Moldova, and her unit did a lot of what we call "local" duty, four-week clean and sweeps of Montenegro, Kosovo, the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, Albania, that sort of thing. We were never sent out at the same time, and there were many months where we were both resident in Belgrade. I suppose it wasn't a surprise when Fei fell pregnant again."

A quick flash of a smile. "Ron was not happy about it. He got called on as back-up for Unit 1 for six months—twice the field duty. Fei told him that it was payback for every time she took his backup for Unit 8 for his annual leave home. I beat him into the dirt a few extra times and told him fieldwork was good for him. Or maybe I should say that Ron complained about it, not that he wasn't happy about it. He put up with it with good grace, and Gregor Aleksandrovich Lin was born on March 12, 2013."

"So, he's over a year old, now," Francesca chimed in softly. "About eighteen months old?"

"That's right," Alex said, and Aldon took a moment to be glad at that least it wasn't followed by a death date. "Gregor is a dhampir, but not magical. I left him and Tatiana in Belgrade at the base when I came here. He was starting to talk a bit, but I suppose—we'll see. Just like the first time, Fei agreed to come into the compound for the last few months of her pregnancy and for the first few months after he was born, but after the summer came, she wanted to move back out to her flat. We argued about it, but—"

Alex shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. "She won. She just—she hated the idea of living in the compound. She didn't mind working in the compound, she didn't mind coming by every day, but she hated _living_ there. She said the day that she moved in, it would become a prison, four walls stripping her of her precious freedom. But the compound is safer, and if only I had convinced her to move into the compound—"

He cut himself off and reached for the brandy. "If I had managed to convince her to move into the compound, she might still be alive."

* * *

Alex ordered his unit on through the night. It was a short mission—a Bulgarian coven causing trouble close to the Serbian border, and his was the fastest available unit to respond. Unit 8 had successfully tracked and routed them in less than four weeks, and he was looking forward to getting home. They were well-rested enough after their evening break, and at their current speed he thought they would be back in Belgrade before dawn. Three vans carried his unit across the country, and behind him he could hear people snoring.

"The roads are empty," he pointed out, leaning forwards as if willing the van on. "You could go a little faster."

"Speed limit's eighty here," Ron replied absently, and Alex sighed. He wished Emile was driving—Emile had a lead foot, and he liked racing. But Emile had taken an injury in the firefight, and he was sleeping it off. Ron glanced over at him, a knowing look in his eyes. "Fei and the kids will be sleeping now, anyway. An hour here or there won't make a difference."

"But I want to be there when they wake up," Alex grumbled quietly. A month was a long time in the mind of a child, and he wanted to see and have breakfast with them before they went to the nursery for the day. He couldn't deny, too, that the prospect of morning sex, when Fei was warm and inviting and still a little sleepy, was also very appealing.

"They'll still be there if you're an hour later," Ron pointed out. "But if you rush me and we get in an accident or stopped, you'll be even later. We're not due back for another three days anyway."

"Cut the road safety lecture." Alex sighed again. "I want to see them, that's all."

"And you will." Ron grinned. "Underneath that hard-ass exterior, Captain, you really are soft."

"As if you have any space to say anything about softness," Alex retorted. Unusually among their set, Ron made no effort to be either overly masculine or to hide his soft underbelly. He tended to lanky wiry-ness over muscle, he was open about his close relationship with his family, and he was infamous for taking an extended, three-month leave every year to visit his family in England. He was considered soft, and he would have taken far more flak about it if he wasn't also generally considered to be one of the best military tacticians in the world.

"There's nothing wrong with being soft," Ron replied, his eyes on the road. "Being soft means you can empathize with people, Alex. It means you aren't a sociopath. I'd worry more if you didn't care about seeing your family—but it doesn't mean I'll risk my neck speeding for it."

Alex shook his head, leaning back in his chair, and didn't bother to reply. Ron would only lecture him on road safety if he did, and they had all heard the horrifying descriptions of car accident injuries that he was prone to regaling them with if they pushed him too hard. Instead, Alex watched the horizon, waiting for the familiar sights of Belgrade to appear, ghostlike, in the darkness.

It was because he was paying attention that he saw the glow in the distance. The sun was rising, pale curtains of grey light quickly streaking up from the horizon. At first, Alex didn't notice the importance, thinking only with annoyance that he was certainly going to miss his morning with Fei and the kids, and then he spotted the time on the dashboard.

"It's only just past three in the morning," he said slowly. "And it's well after midsummer. Yesterday sunrise wasn't until after five."

Ron took another look at the sun rising in the distance. "Shit," he swore, and his foot went down on the gas.

"What?" Alex asked, straightening in his seat. Ron never sped—not unless there was something critical.

"Look at the pearlescent sheen in the sky," Ron replied shortly. "You can't see it very well, but you can just make it out where the grey light hits the yellow. The sun is rising too fast too, you can already see it just poking over the horizon. This isn't a natural sunrise—someone sacrificed their soul for this. We need to get to base. Get your wand out and get ready to fire off some Confundus Charms if we're stopped."

"I don't carry my wand anymore," Alex snapped, hitting the dashboard in frustration. "They're goddamned inconvenient and fragile things!"

"Then you should have gotten an ACD years ago—their generalist models are great, then you can be runic primary and ACD secondary and not be bloody useless if we need to Confundus a cop!" Ron snapped back, but it was only an expression of his worry.

Few witches and wizards knew how to tap into their soul, and even fewer did it. Tapping into one's soul allowed a witch or wizard to use an enormous burst of power, far beyond what anyone would find possible, but in return the person became a Soulless. There was no coming back from that, no afterlife according to most wizarding interpretations of religion, and the only thing anyone could do was sit with them through the Fade and give them a dignified death. The last time anyone had fueled a spell with their soul had been at Hogwarts during the revolution.

"It doesn't need to be someone in Belgrade," Ron added after a long moment, his voice now quiet. "Stormwings might be the only ones formally taught how to sacrifice our souls for power, but there are two hundred of us around the world."

"How many would use it on a Sunrise Charm, though?" Alex pointed out. "It's useless anywhere it's already daytime—and it's especially geared towards vampire attack."

"There are thirty Stormwings on retainer with the Order," Ron replied reasonably, though he was biting his lower lip. "Any of our bases…"

"Let's just get there." Alex let out a shaky breath. "Maybe there was a vampire strike on base. Maybe there was a vampire strike on our bases in Budapest, or Bucharest, or Warsaw, or in Russia. Maybe they got stupid and did a front-line assault on the compound in Belgrade."

"Maybe," Ron agreed, but from the tone of his voice, Alex knew that he didn't truly believe it.

The issue was that vampires were smart. They were cunning, and they hadn't been foolish enough to go after an Order base since the First World War. Taking on a major base involved the cooperation of multiple covens, which was exceptionally rare, and they normally did so only in cases of serious political turmoil that could mask their actions. Moreover, every Order base was well-defended—even if attacked, Order bases were well staffed and able to defend themselves without a Stormwing invoking the ultimate sacrifice.

It was far more likely that this was an action by a Stormwing caught in the open—a Stormwing who lived off base, who couldn't call on backup quickly, and a Stormwing who had someone or something to defend. Like three children under the age of five.

"Fei's flat is only a ten minute walk from Belgrade base," Alex said, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or not. "Just ten minutes. And the Council keeps an eye on her—they must. Because of Tatiana."

"That's right," Ron agreed, though his voice wasn't at all reassuring. They both knew that in a time of urgency, ten minutes could be a very long time.

They peeled into Belgrade what felt like hours later. According to the clock on the dashboard, it was barely an hour later, which Alex thought had to be a lie. Every turn in his home city felt like an eternity, for all that Ron was driving more recklessly than usual, and Alex had never been so unhappy to see the safe, unscaled, unharmed walls of the compound.

If Belgrade base was fine, that meant that the trouble was elsewhere.

It was a split-second decision. The compound didn't need him—or, if they did, they could wait. He needed to check on Fei and the children, and if they were fine, he would drag them all back to the compound while they waited for news of what had happened elsewhere, and if they weren't—

He stopped the thought right there. They had to be fine.

"I'm going to check on Fei," he said, throwing open the door as soon as the van stopped. "Find out what happened and get the unit together. I won't be long."

"Sure thing, Captain." Ron nodded. "The gods go with you."

The streets were too empty—even at four in the morning, there should have been more people out. But this was Belgrade, and this was Serbia, and there were too many people who remembered years of political turmoil. People hid when things were strange, and they had good reason to do it. He hurried along the well-trodden path to Fei's flat, and the moment he turned the corner, he knew that things were bad.

The rooftop and part of the wall of Fei's building were torn away, and even from a distance Alex could make out the dozen of dhampir shapes hovering around the outside, already starting the clean-up operation. He broke out into a flat run, his only goal to get there, to see what had happened, his mind a fuzzy, static-filled blur.

He recognized some of the dhampir of Unit 1—Fei's unit-mates, all of whom wore grim expressions. Most of them started in surprise to see him, but they melted out of his way without him asking.

"Captain!" A familiar voice rang out. Second Lieutenant Serge Arkanian appeared in front of him on the landing to the fourth floor, his mouth a thin, upset line. "We weren't expecting you—but I am glad you're here. She won't give us her last wishes, nor will she go to the compound. She wants you, and only you, and we said you weren't due back for days and she said she would cling to her soul with nothing more than sheer willpower until you got here if she had to, but—"

"She's Fading," Alex said, and his voice was unfamiliar even to himself. He couldn't sound that calm, that sure, not when he was falling apart inside. "Even Fei couldn't cling to her soul for three days."

"We got here as soon as we saw the signs of attack, but—" Arkanian shook his head. "It took too long to mobilize, the damned sentries weren't paying enough attention—our captain will have it out with them in the training yards later. That's not important now. Go."

Alex nodded numbly, pushing past the man into the flat that he had shared with Fei. It didn't take long for him to find her—for one, she was yelling at the top of her lungs, and without the evidence in the skies and Arkanian's information, he would have thought she was fine.

"No, we are _not_ going to the fucking compound. I will die free, under the open goddamn skies, and you will put my son down _right this instant_ or I will set you on fire, Captain!" she was shrieking, as Alex rounded the corner. "Go make yourself useful and make a perimeter or something!"

"Fei!" Alex ran in, with barely a nod towards Captain Johan Pettersen, the leader of Unit 1, whose face immediately lit up with relief even underneath his concern.

"Dragić!" he said, setting down Gregor. "Talk some sense into her, please—the children cannot be left out here, undefended. They must go to the compound."

"It's daytime," Alex replied coldly, though he and Pettersen were of the same rank and therefore he couldn't give him orders. "We have time. Go set up a perimeter. I'll—I'll handle it."

Pettersen nodded, not contesting the order, and disappeared, leaving Alex alone with Fei. She was panting heavily, her chest heaving, and the girls were clinging to her legs and crying. Gregor was stumbling towards her, falling face forward into her arms, wailing.

"Alex. You've walked into a right mess," Fei said, smiling weakly as she tried to soothe Gregor with shaking arms. "But I'm glad you're here. I wouldn't—wouldn't trust anyone else with the children."

"Fei." Alex swallowed, catching the signs of the Fade even through Fei's calm statements. She was pale and shaky, and the stink of leaking magic in the air was unmistakeable. "I—Fei. What happened?"

She shrugged, detaching the girls from her legs as she staggered over to the comfortable, brown sofa that they had spent so many nights on watching television. She collapsed into it, a marionette with her strings cut, keeping Gregor in her lap. The girls crawled up beside her, nuzzling into her sides.

"No, leave some room for your father," she said absently, while Alex caught Marija and pulled her into his lap instead while he sat down beside Fei. "An attack. The wards warned me, but they had more vampires than I could dispatch easily. Alone, I could have made it to the compound if I fled, but—the children. I couldn't leave the children, and with three of them, I wasn't going to make a choice. I sent up flares, but—"

She fell silent, gasping for air. The magic in the air around her reeked, wrong in its intensity and metal tang, and Alex couldn't help wrapping an arm around her. If these were the last few minutes, last few hours he would have with her, then he couldn't do anything less.

"But they were late," Fei finished, her voice quiet. "Mobilization time, and then getting here, and I was so overwhelmed. So—so I did it. I invoked the spells to sacrifice my soul."

"You should have been in the compound," Alex whispered back. "If I wasn't here—you should have been in the compound."

"I hate the compound." She sucked in another breath, rasping a little. "You know I hate living in the compound, Alex. It's a prison. I hate it. I like living out here, among the people, close to the streets and the shops and everyday people."

"If you were in the compound—"

"No." She leaned into him with a sigh, and the reek of magic became stronger. "I'm glad you're here, Alex. Last wishes."

"No," Alex said, trying hard to balance the Marija in his lap with pulling Fei closer to him. "Not—not yet. Not yet, Fei."

"If not now, then I might not be able to put them so clearly later," Fei replied, her voice iron even through its softness. "First, the children—for heirloom-casting, Marija and Tatiana need a bone from an ancestor. Since I'm disowned, I couldn't get anything from my family for them, but with me gone, they can have them from me. Two of my finger-bones should be kept for them. My cousin Jessa knows the ritual, she can set the spells in place for them to bond as traditional heirlooms."

"I don't want—" Alex's voice was breaking. "I can't—how could I?"

"You can because you have to." Fei's voice was stern. "Gregor, I trust that you'll know how to care for him properly. My things, you can have them all. They're only things. Tell my cousins at Queenscove that I loved them dearly."

Alex nodded, swallowing a hard lump in his throat. "Anyone else?"

Fei laughed quietly. "There is no one else. Everyone in my life is here—my unit-mates, you, Ron, the children… I suppose you could tell Stormwing Avery that I got myself killed protecting someone instead of doing something stupid. She'd like that, I think. But otherwise, no, there's no one."

"Oh," Alex said, a little lost for words. It wasn't as if Alex would have many other people to notify either, but he had always thought that Fei would be different.

Fei's hand slipped into his. "I have no regrets about my life, Alex. I have you, I have the children—I have more than I once thought I would. Stay with me."

"Anything." Alex gripped her hand, shushing Marija as she sniffled. The children had finally calmed, Tatiana falling asleep on Fei's other side. "Anything you want, Fei."

She smiled up at him. "This. Just this, until I'm gone. Then take the children out and… and take care of what's left. And remember the bones, and—and my ring. That's yours. Keep it."

Alex didn't have an answer to that. There was no answer to that—the future, to him, seemed to stretch only the next few minutes, the next few hours. The world that Fei was telling him about was unreal, a reality that was fast approaching, but a reality that he could not, or that he would not, accept.

But it was there. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, and to his relief none of the children fussed. The metal-electric smell of magic in the air grew stronger, coating his lungs, until he could taste it—and Fei's breathing evened out, from harsh pants as she struggled to keep a hold of herself, until there was nothing left for her to hold. The free sky above them glowed blue and bright, and he didn't know what time it was when Ron came by.

"She's gone," Ron said, his own voice quiet. "She made the sun rise—you can't have expected her to hold on for long."

"She's not," Alex protested, his muscles stiff with the weight of Fei on him. Marija had crawled off him sometime in the last few hours, choosing to sleep against his side instead, but he hadn't moved in too long. "She's not gone, she can't be."

"She is." Ron said firmly, and then he paused, looking over the scene. When he spoke again, he was utterly serious. "Can you do what needs to be done? The kids shouldn't watch this—I can take them out and let you handle it, or…"

Alex swallowed. "I don't have a wand. And I can't—she had wishes for her body. I can't. Even if I had a wand, I'm Light, and…"

Ron nodded, drawing his own wand. "Then go. Take the kids out, and don't let them watch. I'll handle it."

It was a long minute before Alex nodded. His knees creaked as he stood up, long hours of disuse making themselves felt, and he woke each of the children. They were mercifully quiet as he ushered them to the door where Second Lieutenant Arkanian waited, but he couldn't make himself step outside the door with them. Instead, he looked back at Fei.

She wanted him to stay with her. Until the end, he assumed, and he motioned for Arkanian to step a little further down the hallway, and he returned to her. Fei was breathing, her expression at peace, and if it weren't for the taste of magic in the air and the unnatural grey pallor of her face, he could believe that she was just sleeping.

Just sleeping, and likely to wake up.

"She's gone, Alex," Ron reiterated. "There's nothing left we can do."

"I know. Just—another minute," Alex muttered. "One more minute."

"You'll always want one more minute." Even saying so, Ron looked away, letting Alex have a moment of privacy where he could stroke and neaten her hair, where he could press his lips against her face just a few more times, where he could breathe in her scent which he could still just pick up under the taste of magic and ashes. She was there, and she was Fei, but she was gone.

She was gone, and there were three children waiting outside for their father.

"Do it," he rasped, far longer than one minute later. He didn't step away from Fei—he couldn't. He was rooted here, Fei's hand clasped in his, until her breath had gone the same way as her soul. The only thing he did was sit away, outside of the line of fire.

" _Avada Kedavra_." Ron's wandwork was precise, the green light and rush of impending death quick, and Fei's breath stopped. At that, Alex broke—he didn't care that Ron was watching, or that there was a whole unit of soldiers waiting outside for him, because there was only Fei. There was only Fei's body, and he couldn't resist pulling her into his arms, couldn't resist peppering her face with more kisses, couldn't resist running his fingers through her hair even if her weight was dead in his arms, a harsh reminder of what was gone.

Ron didn't comment. Instead, he looked outside, watching the morning bustle of Belgrade, and he let Alex cry himself out without a word.

"The children," Alex choked out, struggling to get a hold of himself. The children would be upset to see him like this, and he had to put himself together quickly. "I need to take the children to the compound, and—and get them settled into my rooms. This will be disruptive enough to them, and then—then—"

"We'll get the body back to base," Ron said quickly. "Don't worry about it. Did she want a funeral pyre, or a burial?"

"Bones." Alex took a deep, steadying breath. "She only said—two of her finger bones needed to be kept, for Marija and Tatiana. And then—a funeral pyre. Fei would want her ashes to be free. She would hate being buried."

"She would," Ron agreed softly. "I'll see it done, Captain. Go do what you have to do, and don't forget her ring. She always wanted you to have it, and we never joke about these things."

* * *

"And so," Alex said thickly, for he had started crying more than a half hour ago. Neither Aldon nor Francesca had said a word, though Aldon had silently Summoned a stack of handkerchiefs for the table. "Fei was gone, and I—I did what she asked me to do. I took her bones, and after this I'll visit Neal and get into contact with Jessa. Tatiana and Gregor are dhampir, so I can't take them out of the Order, but Marija…"

Aldon looked down at the girl in Alex's lap. "But Marija, you brought here."

"Yes." Alex took a deep breath, wiping his eyes. "I want you to adopt her, Aldon. Please. I want something different for her—she doesn't need to be in the Order. She can choose to—to be normal, like my eldest, and go to Hogwarts and live a peaceful life. She can get married, and she can be safe. Here, in England."

Aldon exchanged a look with his wife—Francesca seemed to be caught somewhere between surprise and sympathy. He looked back at Alex. "Why us? I imagine that Neal and his wife would be all too happy to take her in, and she's blood-kin to them. Neal is an heirloom-caster too, and he can give her the appropriate training."

"Because heirloom-casters are primarily combat mages." Alex looked down at Marija, his mouth downturned. "You and Francesca, you're not fighters. You aren't in our world, not even with one foot. I'll—Fei wanted her to have an heirloom, but I don't care if Marija never learns how to use it properly. I know Neal already puts his children through combat training as a matter of heritage, but I _don't_ want that for Marija. I don't want her to have to fight for a living."

Aldon looked at Francesca again—her dark eyes were worried, and she tilted her head, first one direction, then the other. She would leave this decision to him, that meant, and Aldon took a minute to look at his old friend and think.

No matter how anyone put it, Alex looked crushed. The lines on his face were new—unlike himself and Francesca, it wasn't a function of age, but of recent shock. Aldon could see the silver ring on Alex's hand, slipped rightly or not onto his left ring finger; and he thought about the long story that Alex had just told them. It was near three in the morning, now, and Aldon was surprised to realize that if Alex had left Serbia just after Fei's death, then it must have been very recent indeed.

Alex had already lost so many of his children. His eldest, Alexander Chang Weasley, had been adopted out—with his consent, but that had come with a cost. His next two were dead, and he had just lost someone else that he had loved. And now he was committing two of his remaining children to the same life that he lived.

And Aldon saw the way that he held his daughter, the way that he handled her and treated her. It was impossible not to see himself and his own Alice in him, and it was that, more than anything that made his decision.

"No," he said quietly. "Francesca and I are happy to foster Marija, but there will be no adoption. We'll call our lawyers in the morning, and we'll draw up a guardianship contract giving us authority to make decisions while you are out of the country, but you are not letting go of your parental rights for her. I expect you here at least once per year, Alex—you'll have a relationship with your daughter, dhampir or not. She'll know who you are, and she'll know that you love her, and we are not going to be your and Fei's replacement."

There was a long, long silence, and Alex reached over and polished off the brandy. Most of it had gone in the last part of his tale, but it seemed that there was a mouthful or so left. "I should argue."

"You won't," Aldon said firmly. "You won't argue. It's too late for argument, and we won't hear of it. Francesca has arranged a room for you and your daughter, and tomorrow we'll make the legal arrangements while you go to Queenscove and do the other things you must do. Since you're here, we'll also outfit you with the latest in ACD technology, and we'll make sure there is a good communication system between you and Marija. Have you a smartphone?"

"Why would—why would I have a smartphone?" Alex tried to smile, and it held, just barely.

"So that your daughter can make video calls to you, of course." Aldon sighed, rubbing his head. "Tomorrow. We'll get you one tomorrow."

**Author's Note:**

> I actually had this in mind for years-probably since writing VG, at least. There are a few easter eggs tossed in through rev arc and a few earlier one-shots that meld with this: in Running the Gauntlet, Alex never explains why he's in Britain at all, but I knew he was there helping Cho. Alex also sticks his head in CC when he has Aldon take Cho on as an assistant, and I also went out of my way to make sure Alex and Fei never met during the war itself. It turns out I am not an angst master, but I gave it a good hard attempt anyway! Do let me know if you cried.


End file.
